97 (Rise of the Battle Bred)

by V. L. Holt

The Marine looked at him. He didn’t betray distrust, if he was feeling it. Just looked at him. Zarastrid spoke again. “We got off on the wrong foot last year, the first time we caught you. Don’t make me explain myself; those were dark days. I’ve changed,” He said with a slow smile.

  The Marine just looked at him.

  “Well, if you’re not going to sit, I will,” He made himself comfortable, resting a long suited leg over a knee and dangling his burgundy leather wingtip lazily. He inspected the prisoner.

  The Marine stood with excellent posture, considering Zeko had kept him chained up and isolated for the last two weeks. He wasn’t starved, but certainly wasn’t in peak health.

  “You still have the carriage of a military man,” Zarastrid remarked. “Why did you leave the Marines? They served you well, no doubt.”

  The Marine made no reply.

  Zarastrid determined not to let his silence goad him. “I’ve been studying. Experimenting,” Zarastrid watched the man’s eyes carefully, thought he saw something with that last word. It pleased him. “I realized I’ve been going about things all wrong. You have no reason to trust me. No reason to divulge anything of value to me. I’m worthless to you. I’m beneath you,” He continued.

  The Marine was very good. Other than that little shift in his gaze, he hadn’t shown his cards at all.

  Zarastrid was practically immortal; he could wait. Up to a point. He waved his hand carelessly. “None of that interests you, either. So I propose a change in our relationship. Zeko may continue his botched attempts; I won’t stop him. But you and I: we are going to get very close. We’re going to be intimates. Confidantes, in time,” He thought he saw the faintest hint of rebellion in the Marine’ eyes. Good. He was getting to him.

  Zarastrid stood. “I’m relocating here. You and I will have daily meetings. We’ll break bread together. I have a little something that should interest you as well,” He escorted the Marine by the elbow out of the room. Where the soldier would have turned right to the end of the hall, Zarastrid steered him gently to the left. “I’ve taken the liberty of changing your accommodations. This way, please,” A few doors down, Zarastrid opened one.

  The room was sparsely furnished, but unlike the cement cell with a floor drain, was carpeted. A simple pallet lay on the floor. Art was cleverly painted on the cement block wall.

  “I see no need for chains. It’s so…Dark Ages, don’t you think? Very barbaric,” He sniffed as if his sensibilities were offended. “Mark your calendar, Marine. This is the beginning of a new era between us,” He closed the door, leaving the man inside.

  He debated turning the lock, but decided against it. If he didn’t trust his own power, then he walked the line that stood between excellence and impotence. His binding spell was enough to keep the Marine in the room as long as Zarastrid wanted him in there. He didn’t need to use such trivial devices as locks to achieve his ends.

  Toledo

  Steel careened off of talons as strong as stone. Ringing metal and deep-bellied grunts echoed in the night. Jacob panted, but felt the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He wasn’t even winded yet; he could go all night if he had to. And he had to.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw William being reckless again. He kept lifting his right elbow too high, leaving an opening for a killing strike if he wasn’t careful. But Jacob had to turn his attention back to the Lochspawn in front of him. It was like fighting moving granite. Indeed, it wouldn’t surprise him if the Lochspawn were inspired by the gargoyles of old.

  Red angry eyes seethed in front of him. Jacob knew he had to keep the Lochspawn busy before it started chanting. The chanting was what always got them in trouble. But as Warriors, they had learned a trick or two. They’d developed some throwing weapons that they periodically threw toward the Lochspawns’ faces. As they dodged the small metal blades, they couldn’t complete any spells. The trick was avoiding the wide sweep of barb-tipped claws with the help of their blades. It took agility, dexterity, and a lot of luck and skill. Jacob sent another glancing blow at the black devil. He heard rending leather, and felt satisfaction that he’d damaged a wing.

  As the battle carried on into the night, the moon kept peeking behind drifting clouds. Jacob and William’s vision was acute for night, as they’d been created, but so was the vision of their adversaries. In fact, Jacob suspected that Lochspawn vision had been enhanced with some sort of thermal imaging. It gave them an edge, but Lochspawn weren’t fighting for freedom, liberty, the pursuit of a normal life, family. They were merely fighting on orders. The history of the Warriors dictated that such a reason for fighting didn’t last long. The Warriors grew tired of meaningless battle. At least that was how the stories had been passed down over the generations.

  “Aaaaagghh!” Jacob gave a battle cry and lunged for the throat of the beast. His sword pierced the throat, but it didn’t go deep enough to sever its windpipe. As he withdrew his blade in a swift move, he heard noises coming from the surrounding woods. He couldn’t afford to take his eyes off of the Lochspawn, but by the sound of it, he thought maybe a group of drunken kids had stumbled upon the battle clearing.

  This was very bad.

  Jacob deflected a fierce blow with the edge of his sword. He felt sweat beading and running down the side of his face. Now it wasn’t just his son’s lives and his own, but the lives of these innocents that he must protect. While stabbing and thrusting, he shouted. “Run away! Run now!” He had no way of knowing if they heard him, other than the beast before him did not leave the fight.

  It appeared the Lochspawn was gradually weakening from the neck wound. Jacob renewed his efforts, feinting toward the torso, then at the last moment, driving his broadsword upward to the beast’s Adam’s apple. The gargoyle-like monster made a death rattle, and collapsed at Jacob’s feet. Wasting no time, he severed the Lochspawn’s windpipe and then ran to join William in his fight. William was lying on one elbow, using his sword arm to deflect the blows from glistening black talons. If Jacob had to guess, William had already died once, and was coming out of death even now. He cursed as he ran toward them. He looked to the right, and saw the group of kids staring and leaning against one another. “Leave!” He shouted at them urgently. They stared stupidly. Jacob couldn’t waste time on them.

  He reached the other Lochspawn and drove his sword into the creature’s back. The crunch of gristle, leather, bone and membrane reverberated across the field. The beast howled and arched its broken back. This gave William a moment’s reprieve to finish his living cycle. The scars from past battles glowed with a fiery anger as his skin flamed back into full life. He jumped up, light on his feet, and Jacob and William fought the creature together.

  Now that it was cornered, the Lochspawn screeched like the hellish demon it was, and lashed blindly in all directions. Jacob avoided the scratches by sheer experience, having battled these spawns of the Warlochs his whole long life. William, on the other hand, was still fighting with the recklessness of youth and an abundance of lives yet ahead of him. As the two men grunted with each battle-stroke, Jacob chastised his son. “You’re lifting that elbow, Son! Watch yourself.”

  More blows rained on the black devil, and it parried their thrusts with ease. Jacob was distracted by William’s repeatedly careless right thrust, and the more lucid kids who still had not left the clearing.

  They began shouting and cheering at them, like idiots. Jacob growled in frustration. He continued to hack at the back of the creature, trying to slice its wings to shreds. Between the shouting kids and William’s carelessness, he missed the beginning words of the incantation.

  The Lochspawn began the chant quietly, and before either Jacob or William knew it, blue flames were erupting from its maw. “No!” Jacob shouted. He tried to behead the creature from behind, but it was too late. The incantation was beginning its fatal twisting curls. The blue fire started at the base of William’s feet, and wrapped around his legs, effectively cutting off his ability to stand. It swirled up his
body, burning fabric and flesh, and then the panic set in to William’s eyes. He looked at Jacob, an apology on his lips, and then the flame worked its way up his chest.

  In a frenzy of fear and desperation, Jacob decapitated the Lochspawn and then leaped upon William’s body, trying to smother the magic flame with his own flesh. He shouted in agony, but seemed to draw away some of the death blow from his son. He murmured the only spell he knew, a sort of Warrior’s Prayer passed down from generation to generation. Then he lifted the lifeless form of his son onto his back and began to lope through the forest.

  The kids’ shouts had died down in awe, and then rose up again in keening cries. Jacob looked across the clearing; one of the dead Lochspawn had appeared out of nowhere, apparently healed, and was now diving at the youths mercilessly. Jacob looked on in horror as the dark devil snatched at the kids as if they were no more corporeal than blades of grass. There was no time for him to cross the glen; no time to do anything but watch. The beast’s talons impaled one, and disemboweled another in a swift move. Next, limbs were dispatched from bodies. The bloodbath was over in a matter of moments. Jacob stood guard over William, who was barely conscious, and watched in grim dread as the Lochspawn walked on powerful legs toward them. He poised his sword, ready to battle toward many deaths. The rock-like Lochspawn glared down at him and pointed a bloodied talon.

  “For my mate,” It spat out in a contorted voice. Then in a sweep of powerful wings, it lifted itself and disappeared into the clouds misting above the woods. Jacob looked on in confusion. Why would a Lochspawn exact revenge in such a way? The Warlochs had every reason to hide their existence from governments and science alike, and kept their Lochspawn on tight leashes. While civilian deaths weren’t unheard of, killing so many at once was discouraged. And Jacob had never witnessed a Lochspawn caring about the death of one of its comrades.

  Jacob knelt by William then. William stirred. “It killed all four of them, didn’t it?” He asked in a weak voice.

  “Hush,” Jacob said. “Don’t think about that now,” In spite of years of such deaths, it was never easy for Jacob to witness the life leave his son’s body. He didn’t have complete faith in the Warlochs that created their race; what if someone came along who didn’t have the full 99? What if it was William? He brushed the hair out of William’s eyes.

  “How many?” William whispered, a grimace of pain contorting his mouth.

  Jacob swiftly counted the flaming scars that marked the passing of each Warrior’s life. William was young, too young, to have lost so many. He recounted, and felt blood drain from his face. William had had 46 lives prior to tonight. It had appeared to Jacob that William had perished once before the Lochspawn used its spell. The incantation had taken fifty for its toll. Jacob cursed again.

  “How many?” William asked again, his voice soft as a spring breeze. He died.

  Jacob held his son close to his chest, just held him as the life cycle began again, regenerating skin and bone as needed. Jacob himself was in his 50th. He knew the pain being resurrected brought, and tried to comfort his son by proximity if nothing else.

  In a great gasp, William’s 97th life-breath entered his body.

  “How many?” He asked in a clear and true voice.

  “50,” Jacob said. He released his hold, letting William shake out his limbs and crack knuckles.

  “Guess I better work on that right thrust,” He said, and then looked out at the carnage in the clearing. Most of the blood had already soaked into the earth, but the copper stench assaulted their noses nonetheless.

  “We’ll bury them here,” Jacob announced. William only nodded. Jacob looked at his boy; his only child, his only son. The only thing left to him from his beautiful and strong wife. They couldn’t go on this way. Something had to change.

  As they lowered the final corpse into the grave, Jacob looked at his only son and decided. He would no longer fight. William wouldn’t like it, but Jacob couldn’t afford to lose him. He was his only reminder of Dorothea; he had her eyes.

  They would go somewhere unexpected. Somewhere quiet and boring. No more big cities. Being anonymous in big populations hadn’t worked as a strategy. Maybe getting lost in a rural area would work.

  As shovelfuls of dirt covered the bodies, Jacob and William whispered the Warriors’ Prayer again.

  “Though we die and die again,

  Yet we’ll live thru the 99th.

  We were made for fodder

  To fight another’s battle.

  Now we fight for none but one

  The One life lived, for mother, wife and son.

  A life lived at another’s call

  Is half-lived or not at all.

  Better to live only one,

  For self, family, freedom.

  A single life well-lived is

  Worth more than 98 only half-lived.”

  The bodies sufficiently buried and eulogized, Jacob and William left the dark woods, the scene of one of the most horrendous acts by the Lochspawn, and William significantly older. They somberly packed up their possessions, and charted a route through the United States. Jacob worked feverishly on a computer program he hoped would change everything about their current existence. It had to change, because living in constant worry about his beloved son, was no way to live. It was, he thought grimly, only a half-life.

  38

  Where to start? I had more questions, not the least of which was where in the heck Mr. Tall, Dark and Dangerously Handsome had come across Pride and Prejudice, which was, quite possibly, my most favorite book of all time, at least after Miss Wyoming.

  I looked over at William behind the steering wheel. He was frowning slightly. What now? I wished the bevy of butterflies in my stomach would calm down; otherwise, William’s Minivan was going to need a deep clean after this ride.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  He shrugged.

  “You don’t know, or you won’t tell me?” I said.

  “It’s just this place,” He said. He looked at me briefly. He must never find out what his simple gaze could do to me. Those penetrating dark eyes seemed to peel me layer by layer. What did he see when he looked at me?

  We drove out of town, just a ways past the ‘Welcome to Deer Fjord’ sign, and turned down a dirt road. I wasn’t worried about being alone with William, or about his motives. I never got any kind of creepy vibes about him. But this place we seemed to be heading to, there was something odd about it. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. He looked at me quickly.

  “You okay?” He asked.

  I nodded, saying nothing. I looked out into the trees and brush, feeling stranger and stranger. As if there was something I was supposed to know about this place, but couldn’t put my finger on.

  He found a place to park, probably not the first car to ever stop here, as the grass was pushed down and stumpy beside the road. There was a short path, and a wide open field surrounded by several pine trees and some leafy ones as well. The weather was still nice this side of September, so we got out to walk.

  I was jittery thinking about what William had barely told me about wanting to kiss me. When would he try it? Would he try it? Maybe telling me jinxed it for good. I decided I couldn’t think about that, although it was a darn good distraction from the other thing I absolutely didn’t want to think about: ever.

  “You have questions. Ask,” William broke my reverie. If he thought I was going to just blurt out the fat elephant in the room, he had another thing coming.

  “About us?” I threw down the gauntlet.

  “Sure.”

  I swallowed. “Okay,” I thought about all the things I could ask, and decided to start at the beginning. “Friday. Why did you try to get in all my classes? You never really answered before,” I looked at him closely. He nodded, staring at his gray high tops.

  “I was…am…curious about you. The only way I figured I could learn more was to increase my exposure to you,” He said calmly.

  “Like a sci
ence experiment,” I said helpfully.

  He huffed. “No, not like that,” He looked at me again, and around the glen. “Have you ever been here before?”

  I stopped walking, confused. Nice segue, but into what exactly? I looked around me. Wide open area, grassy, some wildflowers dotted the field. I had that feeling again, the one that made me kind of edgy and anxious. Like I was forgetting something I couldn’t put my finger on. “Um, I don’t think so.”

  He looked kind of smug, like he was expecting that answer. “Does it look familiar though?” He asked.

  I looked again. I couldn’t say that any of it looked like anyplace I had seen before, specifically. “No,” I shrugged. Then I figured I may as well tell him how I felt. “But,” I stopped, unsure how to go on.

  “What?” He asked me. He put his hands on my arms expectantly.

  His warmth and strength hit me instantly, and how I longed to sway into his arms and be held, like he had held me at the track. But I was strong. “As soon as we started driving along the road, I had the strangest feeling, like I was forgetting something. But that’s it,” I rushed to say.

  He nodded. “It makes sense,” He reluctantly let go, at least, I hoped it was reluctance on his part, because it sure was for me. “Ask me more,” he said.

  I smiled a little. “Okay. Why didn’t you want to tell me where you were from? I mean, Toledo, Ohio. Big deal,” I grinned at him.

  The light went out of his eyes. “I’m sorry. Ask me anything else. I don’t want to talk about Toledo yet.”

  I put my hands up, “Whoa. No big deal. Fine, no Toledo,” I scratched my head. “Pride and Prejudice?”

  He smiled again. “Book on tape. We spend a lot of time on the road. My knowledge of Classic Literature is partly what got me in Mrs. Dietrich’s class.”

  “Partly?” I quizzed him.

  He shrugged his mammoth shoulders boyishly. “She thinks I’m cute.”

  I scoffed at him. “Cute?” I punched him in the arm; he pretended it hurt. “You’re a lot of things, but I wouldn’t call you cute,” I couldn’t help it; I chuckled. He looked wounded. “William, excuse me while I blush like a maniac right now, but you are so far from ‘cute’,” I used air quotes. “You’re like on another planet,” He still didn’t seem to get it, frowning unhappily.